


bow your head (in the house of god)

by tobiased



Series: heaven trembles, fallen at our feet [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Crisis of Faith, F/F, Faithful Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Gen, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:28:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22461877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobiased/pseuds/tobiased
Summary: and little girl, who do you think you are?They call her the Herald of Andraste now, and she doesn't understand how a person likehercould be a person likethat.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Josephine Montilyet, Josephine Montilyet/Female Trevelyan
Series: heaven trembles, fallen at our feet [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621243
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	bow your head (in the house of god)

Jocelyn was the last person who should be called _The Herald of Andraste_.

Well. Maybe not the last person. There were people less faithful in the Maker than her. The Dalish, for one. The dwarves, for another. But still, her point remained. She had turned her back on the Maker and Andraste years ago. Why would they ever choose her?

When she had woken up in a cell, bound and surrounded by guards, she had thought that was it. She had finally gotten herself in a situation that her family's name and money couldn't get her out of. It was really a long time in coming, she knew. Jocelyn had been too free in life. She drank too much, fucked too much, fought too much. She had turned down a life with the Templars when it had been offered to her. She was a disgrace to the Trevelyan family, and she knew it very well.

But things had hardly turned out like she had expected. And here she was, a member of the newly formed Inquisition, the so-called Herald of Andraste.

She didn't know if it was true or not, that it had been Andraste herself that had delivered her from the Fade. Certainly, someone, or some _thing_ , had saved her life. 

In the days following, Jocelyn found herself questioning her faith, or rather her lack of it. The thing was, nothing drastic had happened to cause her to disbelieve. There was no tragic history to be found in her life. No, she had mere become dissatisfied with the Chantry, and how it behaved. There were too many unanswered questions. Too much hypocrisy. The Maker was too distant, perhaps, for her to want to follow him, if she even did believe in him at all.

She supposed drastic, life changing events had a way of causing people to question things. Perhaps it was being surrounded by people with such unshakable belief, like Leliana and Cassandra. They had a way of making you _want_ to believe.

That was how she had ended up in Haven's usually busy chantry that night. True, it had become more of a headquarters for the Inquisition than a place of faith, but still. She felt that perhaps the Maker might be closer here. 

Finding a quiet corner, she leaned against the stone wall, closing her eyes. Thinking of The Chant, the one she hadn't thought of in so long.

 _Blessed are they who stand before  
__The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter._  
_Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just._  
_Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow._  
In their blood the Maker's will is written.

Was that her? Surely, the Inquisition stood before the corrupt, the wicked. Surely they did not falter. 

Did that mean they did the Maker's will?

Jocelyn was no Chantry scholar, that was for certain. But she remember her lessons as a child. Looking down at the green slash in her palm, the mark on her hand, she couldn't believe that the Maker had sent the Breach and the rifts. She couldn't even quite believe that the Maker sent the mark.

But maybe, just maybe, she had been saved for a purpose.

"Are you quite alright, Lady Trevelyan?" An accented voice came from in front of her, and she looked up, startled. In front of her stood the Inquisition's ambassador, Josephine Montilyet.

Jocelyn smiled faintly.

"Yes, I'm just fine," she said, slipping her leather glove back on her hand, hiding the light from the mark that had illuminated her face. She preferred to keep it hidden, when she wasn't on the battlefield. "Just lost in thought, I suppose. Can I do anything for you?"

Jocelyn liked Lady Montilyet, though she didn't know her very well yet. She was skilled in everything that Jocelyn was not, and that was valuable. But she also seemed kind, in her way, and that, too, was something precious. Something to counter the violence that could otherwise overwhelm them.

"No, not at the moment. You had such a look on your face, though. Like the whole world was on your shoulders," Lady Montilyet said, obviously concerned. "And it it quite late."

Only then did Jocelyn notice that Lady Montilyet was in her nightgown. She had known, in an abstract sort of way, that Lady Montilyet had slept in the chantry. But seeing her was something else entirely. She did her best to fight back a blush, not sure why she was having such a reaction. After all, with her history, a little indecency was nothing to fuss over.

"Isn't it?" Jocelyn asked, only half-joking. "It certainly feels that way, sometimes. I didn't realize it was so late - am I bothering you?"

"No, not at all, Herald," Lady Montilyet said. "I was just preparing for bed, but I believe I'm going to read a bit first."

"You can call me Jocelyn," she said impulsively, standing upright from where she had been leaning.

Was it the candlelight flickering, or did she blush a little bit? Jocelyn hoped for the latter. It would be nice to know that, well. That she wasn't the only one feeling something.

"I'm afraid that would be entirely inappropriate, Lady Trevelyan. You are a leading figure in the Inquisition, and such familiarity-"

"Perhaps when we are speaking alone, then?" Jocelyn interrupted hopefully.

"And do you expect we will be speaking alone often?" Lady Montilyet asked, meeting Jocelyn's eyes.

"One can only hope," Jocelyn said, smiling softly.

"Very well then. Jocelyn it is. And you may call me Josephine, whenever it pleases you to do so."

"Josephine," she repeated. "I wish you a good night, then. I believe I ought to be getting to bed, myself. It's a bit of a walk to my quarters from here, after all."

"Yes, of course. Good night, Jocelyn."

"Good night, Josephine. Sleep well."

Jocelyn sketched a playful little bow, and turned away, heading out of the chantry and into the cold.

She might not have any answers about the Maker or Andraste, but something had come of her contemplation, at least. 

_Josephine._

**Author's Note:**

> So, I always choose the mages, and I never play a faithful Inquisitor. And then I thought, what if I did? And so this fic was born. Hopefully, there will be more stories from this worldstate in the future.
> 
> Title from _Moderation_ by Florence + the Machine.


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